


your beauty never, ever scared me

by Anonymous



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: 50 percent world building and 50 percent indulgence, Alternate Universe, Eventual Smut, F/M, Romance, au where the church is essentially a boarding school, the emeritus bois didn't die they just got moved elsewhere
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-07 22:28:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20983421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: '"do you think our Unholy Lord will forgive me for worshipping you instead?”the abbey gets a new librarian. our cardinal falls quite hard and fast for her.(shameless world building abound!)





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no gods, no masters, no betas.

In the darkness like this is when he calls you a goddess. He kisses the tips of your dusty fingers before drawing you a bath in his luxurious bath quarters. 

“The blasphemy…” he murmurs, trailing his lips up the sensitive skin of your wrist. “Do you think our Unholy Lord will forgive me for worshipping you instead?”

The heat pools in your belly and you forget what Copia even means as he nuzzles the skin in the crux of your elbow. You giggle and draw your arm back towards your body, pulling him with you. His kiss is a tease, a quick flash of his lips against yours, before pulling you back towards the bathroom.

“Please,” he whispers, pleading. “For me, love.”

You once explained it to a friend outside the Church that it was like a boarding school. She thought you worked at a Catholic school and so did most of your acquaintances. You weren’t about to correct them. 

That would lead to more questions than you’d ever want to answer. 

They knew it was a private sect that your grandmother joined in the 1960s and your mother was born into it and you were as well. You had Thursdays off, they knew, and you had to wear black wool for your uniform. You were a librarian, they knew, overseeing a large and archaic library of an ancient abbey. 

Two years ago, when you came back to the abbey, the library was in shambles. Sister Imperator met you at the wide doors, arms crossed and expression sour.

“Sister,” you said obediently, bowing your head.

She let you grovel for a moment before she smiled and beckoned you inside with good spirits. “Your mother called in _quite_ the favor, Sadie,” she started as she lead you towards her office. “I was convinced she’d want you to resume your station at the Pacifica Abbey with her!”

“She always did like to keep me close, Imperator,” you agreed, stepping into her austere office. “But she is a very—” You pause, unsure of how to finish the sentence.

“Prideful bitch?” Imperator offers with a flash of a grin. “Your grandmother clawed her way to the top and you McNichols women seem to like the view up there.”

You flushed pink at that, unsure if Imperator was complimenting your lineage or scoffing at it. “I…am very grateful for this opportunity.”

“Good answer, Sadie. Please, sit. Tea?”

You nod as Imperator fills two teacups with hot liquid, dark and sweet smelling. Everyone knew Imperator’s tea was predominately sugar; when you were a child, the ghouls would see how many sugar cubes they could dump into the pot before she complained. The record was 24 cubes. Imperator drank the whole pot with a straight face but the poor ghoul who won the challenge came to class the next morning with deep welts on her knuckles, brown-grey blood caked into her skin. 

“So,” Imperator said cordially, folding her hands in front of her on her desk. “a librarian.”

You reached into your bag for your resume and credentials. You weren’t entirely sure if this was an interview or an outright offer, so you came prepared.

“I just finished university,” you started, opening a brightly colored folder, “and I spent three year—”

Imperator held her hand up. “Please, Sadie. I already got all of this from your mother. Do you want the damn position or not?”

“Yes.” You paused in your urgency. “Sister.”

“Welcome home, Sadie.”

Three hours later, you and Imperator had a budget and a vision for the library. The computers, used from a local school, were delivered two weeks later and vast shipments of all kinds of books arrived daily for the better part of three months. The defaced and annotated Holy Bibles were allowed to stay in their allocated corner (although the corner was scrubbed to Heaven and back with the help of a few novice Sisters in lieu of detention) but bright lights and high windows allowed new breath to be pushed into the library. 

First you took requests from the novice Sisters. They were young, baby teeth and starched white pinafores. Papa Nihil doted on the novice Sisters and credited them for his longevity. He snuck sweets in the folds of his robes, dyeing the mouths of the little Sisters blues and greens and reds as they tried to hide it from their instructors. He cancelled classes (“Papa has decided nobody is to do math or Latin today,” Sister Imperator had frowned many a time during your schooling) and asked for nothing but their youth and happiness in return. 

“Seestor is really snatching my wig today! Yeet!” you heard him wheeze to another clergy member and you snorted into your sleeve to hide your amusement. The clergyman, not much older than yourself, flushed red at Papa’s casualness and took a second to reorient himself to continue talking.

The novice Sisters were the easiest to please— supernatural romances by the armload, plain Janes magically alluring enough to attract hunky peers set against the background of the apocalypse— and their eyes shone bright with delight as they found their favorite books on freshly polished wooden shelves. 

Next the requests poured in from the junior Sisters. They were older, what the novices would age into, and they wore red pinafores; red wool that looked like a sea of blood when they traveled in packs. The junior Sister classes were often smaller; most Sisters that age who joined did so out of rebellion and had no real desire to devote themselves to the vision of the Church. 

But they were as voracious as their younger counterparts. They asked for violent literature; dark horrors with undertones of sex and disgrace. With their spines facing out, the Sisters no longer had to trade tattered paperbacks to get their fix. A few junior Sisters thought they could scare you, unnerve you, with their tastes. They had yet to have their Initiation Ceremony. That would scare it out of them. 

(_the blood. the drugs. waking up scared in the forest, covered in the viscera of the goat. gotta make it out. gotta stay alive. what’s in the trees?_)

The thought makes you miss being 17 years old again. 


	2. Chapter 2

But that was two years ago. The novice Sisters have aged into juniors and many of the junior Sisters are preparing for their own Ceremonies. Sometimes a junior Sister comes to the library, glancing awkwardly over her shoulder as she slides you a novel, juvenile and embarrassing. After you stamp it, she tucks it into the pocket of her pinafore before bolting from the library. 

The biggest surprise as you settled into life at the abbey was how…full it was. When you had left for school, the abbey was functioning. Now it was thriving. The pews were so full that people had to stand in the back and they hung on to Papa’s sermons in a way you had never seen. They were more devoted than you were. 

“It is my sons,” you heard Papa boom during the sermon. “My first son in Budapest, my second son in Rome, and my third son in London have brought you to our Unholy Lord. Hail Satan!”

The applause was thunderous. You instinctively covered your ears as a Sister, Sister Valentine, next to you laughed in good nature.

You hadn’t thought about Papa’s sons in years.

You were still a junior Sister, not yet 16, when you met Emeritus I, his skull paint and white eye so unlike his father’s. You had been summoned with several other young Sisters for Papa to show off to his son and The First’s gloved hands were rough as he poked and prodded at you all. 

“Her hands are filthy,” he had said to Papa, creaking the delicate bones in your dried and cracked hands in distaste. 

“Junior Sister McNichols works in our laundry and must have forgotten her lotion in her excitement to see you!” Papa croaked in your defense. The truth was your hands were dry, they always were, and you didn’t give a fuck what this stranger thought of them.

The First huffed at that but dismissed you and your Sisters. 

Emeritus II visited your mother’s abbey on a warm spring day while you were home from university for break. His eyes were small and odd, odd like his brother’s and father’s, but he shook your hand warmly and murmured sweetness in Italian to your mother, cooing at her flush. At dinner, he was hand-fed grapes by an elder Sister, lounging like a king in the cradle of her lap.

He summoned you that night, but you politely declined. He apologized profusely, said he hoped he had not offended you, and kissed the back of your hand so tenderly that you almost changed your mind and leapt into his bed. 

A year or so later, it seemed that Emeritus III called on every available Sister in the Pacifica Abbey _except_ you. Your mother had all but kept you hidden in her office for the duration of his visit, briefly introducing you with the bare minimum of politeness before ushering you down to the basement to find an old book or seven.

That night, another Sister, Sister Valentine, had skittered into dinner late, still with smudges of white and black paint on her face and neck. 

“You think this is bad?” she joked. “You should see my—”

You cleared your throat loudly at that, pointing at the novice Sister on your left. The little Sister was engrossed in her newspaper comics but still. Sister Valentine flushed and kept her head down for the rest of the meal. 

But there’s a new one at the abbey now. You had only heard of him, heard he skittered like a rat, and it took seven months before you actually met this weird man. He was not a Papa, but rather a Cardinal. He was small, small and odd, stuttering and flushing as red as his robes whenever someone addressed him directly. 

“Hello,” he greeted awkwardly, leaning against the counter. “I am…” He paused, holding it for so long that you suspected he’d lost his train of thought. “Looking for a book.”

“You’ve come to the right place, Cardinal,” you said brightly. “I have a few hundred here.”

He laughed, a delighted little puff, at your joke and you found yourself giggling alongside him. “It is a very old book.”

“I’ve got a few of those as well.”

It turns out he was looking for the oldest book your library had to offer. It was high on a shelf that nobody rarely used and he watched you carefully as you dragged a small metal ladder to the shelf to give you a boost. 

“Cardinal, would you mind holding the ladder for me, please?”

“Absolutely, Sister…” Another pause as he gripped the base of the ladder.

“McNichols,” you supplied as you stood on it to search for the tome he requested. 

“Sister McNichols,” he said, swirling your name around in his little mouth. “Very nice. Very good.”

As you leaned to search the higher shelves, your legs would occasionally brush against the Cardinal’s gloves hands as he held the ladder for you. Flipping through a book that might have been what he was looking for, you had a feeling of eyes on you.

“Cardinal,” you began casually, “are you looking up my skirt?”

At that, he leapt away from the ladder as if you had burnt him. He flushed that trademark red again, wiping his hands on the front of his robes. 

“I-I-I-I”, he stuttered, focused intensely on the floor next to the ladder. “I did not mean anything by it. You are very beautiful woman and I-” he let out a high pitched, wavering stammer at that. A 

An idea struck you, a flash of playfulness darting through your mind. “Well Cardinal,” you started, setting the book down on the shelf, “you just had to ask.” You grabbed the hem of your wool skirt, lifting it high. “Hope you like sensible tights!”

“I was hoping you wore stockings,” he admitted, glancing out of the windows to see if anyone was passing by.

“Oh no,” you joked lightly as you dropped the hem. “It is always so drafty in here and I get so chilled. I bought these online; they’re lined with fleece!” You picked up the book he requested and began your descent down the ladder. 

“Like I said, Cardinal,” you continued, handing him the book, “if you want to see what’s underneath, you just have to ask.”

He let out another high pitched stammer at that, inching carefully out of the library. You pressed your knuckles to your mouth as you giggled at him. 


	3. Chapter 3

That began four months of the strangest courtship you had even participated in. Sex wasn’t new to you, not really. The Church encouraged relationships between members and you’d even had fun in college seducing the married Mormon man who sat next to you in a lecture. 

There was also an encounter with a ghoul when you were 21 that you both swore you’d never talk about again. You see him from time to time at the abbey; really nice ghoul, always helping the little Sisters carry their bags around the grounds.

You considered asking Sister Valentine for advice on seducing high-ranking members of the Church. She still made an effort to sit next to you during meals, the beginnings of a proud belly concealed under her skirts when you arrived. Two years later, she carries a bouncing little girl on her lap, a chubby youth with one dark eye that matches her mother’s and a milky white eye that matches—

“Wow,” you had joked lightly. “Nihil’s still got it in him.”

Sister Valentine had laughed at that, passing the child to you as the little one grabbed at your braid. You had played with her for the duration of dinner, letting her grab at with your necklace and hair with her chubby fists.

“Hey, hey,” Sister Valentine scolded her daughter lightly when the girl reached up to tug at the buttons on your cardigan. “They might be impressive but those ain’t the ones that feed you!”

“Kimberly,” you started awkwardly as she plucked her daughter out of your arms. “I…have an awkward question.”

“Is this about Copia?”

“What?” You felt the tips of your ears burn. Did she—?

Kimberly raised her eyebrows, jerking her head in the direction of the high table in the front of the dining hall. “At first I thought it was just because you were new,” she explained. “Now it’s been two years and he still gets all red in the face when you eat somethin’ kinda messy.”

You knit your eyebrows in confusion, unsure of how you missed these attentions. Then again, how often do you notice someone looking at you while you eat?

“Durin’ Solstice last year, you got that hot chocolate with all that whip cream on it, remember?”

“Yeah,” you smiled. “It came in that little chocolate cup!”

“You started lickin’ all that cream off your fingers and I am pretty sure he damn near fell out of his seat!”

You both fell into a fit of laughter at that and warm happiness flooded through your body. You spent most of your free time with Kimberly after that, often watching her daughter for her when she worked nights in the abbey laundries. 

Which is how Copia finds you one night, cradling the little one in your arms in the dim darkness of the library. Sleep should have taken you both hours ago but she was restless and a change of scenery couldn’t hurt. Your small rooms were connected to the library so you slipped in still clad in your pajamas. 

“Hey, hey,” you cooed to the little one wrapped against your body. “Mama will be here in just a couple of hours.” 

“Who is Mama?” you heard him say. “I thought I was alone.”

You jumped and nearly lost Kimberly’s daughter in the process. “How did you get in here? I locked it at lights out.”

Copia pulled a large skeleton key out from a fold in his robes. “I have a key. I did not think you’d notice if I came in to do some work.”

“Don’t you have an office?” you sneered, unamused by his intrusion.

“I do,” he said plainly. “But I like how the library smells. You burn Mama’s incense.”

The incense he so coveted was indeed the same blend your mother burnt in her abbey. You bought it in bulk from a gas station in town. You assumed the cashier thought you were a massive drug addict. 

“How do you know what incense my mother uses?”

He shrugged playfully at that. “She keeps a cozy abbey. A wonderful abbess. You should be proud.” A pause. “Tell me, Sister McNichols; do you wish to inherit the Pacifica Abbey when Mama retires?”

Something sour settled in your stomach. Your mother had inherited the abbey from your grandmother shortly after you were accepted into the clergy when you were 11 years old. The idea was you would return home when your mother retired and run it while your progeny was schooled at the main abbey you were now calling home. 

“To be honest,” you started, adjusting the child, “I hadn’t thought that far ahead, Cardinal.”

He nodded amicably at that. “I have stepped on your toes. I apologize.”

A pause as Kimberly’s daughter fussed against your body. 

“I only ask…” He trailed off again, letting out a nervous stutter. “Y-you have quite the future here, Sister McNichols.”

“Don’t make me drop this baby.”

He laughed at that, a loud noise that made you shush him. “Such a librarian!”

“This baby took four hours to finally settle,” you explained. “You will _not_ wake her!”

Copia took a step towards you. “May I see the little Valentine?”

You pulled lightly at the fabric that wrapped her body against yours. “Kim- Sister Valentine got me all strapped in before she went to work,” you joked. “I couldn’t untie this baby even if I wanted to.”

Copia let out a delighted little noise as he looked at the child. Her sleepy eyes opened and closed as she was rustled in her wrap “Ahh, she has Papa’s eye.”

“Which Papa?” you snorted. Copia shot a glance at you; you’d almost call it a dirty look. 

“Sister Valentine—”

“—is a wonderful friend of mine,” you said lightly, resting your hand on his arm. “I only joke about this little one’s Papa.”

He smiled at that. His quickness to defend someone low ranking like Sister Valentine sparks something warm in your chest and you smile back at him.

“Besides,” you said playfully, “we all know the First doesn’t have it in him.”

Copia flushed at that, unsure if he could continue with the mockery of the sacred Emeritus line. 

“The Second, wonderful guy, super classy, but I think his tastes are for those a little older,” you continued. “He hit on my mom once! Are you even allowed to hit on the abbess?”

“I think Sister Valentine is Emeritus the Third’s type,” Copia teased. “He has always had a weakness for the pretty Sisters.”

“Oh yeah,” you enthused. “But any woman with a pulse is his type.” 

Copia snorted and the sound was unexpected. You both tried to fight off laugher as the baby fussed lightly. 

“No, no, no,” you cooed. “C’mon baby baby, you were doing so good!” The little one yawned and settled back into slumber. “Good girl. Oh, wonderful little girl!”

“You are quite good,” Copia said quietly, gesturing to the bundle. 

“Oh, she’s a peach,” you said, stifling a yawn. “You’re more than welcome to keep working, but please lock up when you’re done. I think I need to get to bed as well.”

“Before you go, Sister McNichols,” he started, something akin to a smirk spreading over his features. “You did not guess at what the Cardinal’s type is.”

Heat flushed through you at that but you knew two could play this game. “He seems like the type to get hot under the collar for librarians. Goodnight, Cardinal.”

You left him standing there, stunned, as you headed back to your own rooms.

Hours later, in the early light of dawn, Kimberly asks if you know that Copia is in your library. 

“He said he’s been there all night,” she said, confusion in her tone. “Did you let him in?”

“Apparently he has a key,” you explained.

“Alright,” she huffed, hoisting her daughter into her arms. “Weirdo.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're getting to the sex eventually. <3


End file.
